


That Little Cabin in the Woods

by Zinfandel



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Attempted Murder, Blood and Injury, Gen, Jack is still Jack, Murder, Pitch is a serial Killer, not as dark as it seems, still pretty dark, twisted belief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:30:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4861334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zinfandel/pseuds/Zinfandel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack feels a pull of something within him so strong that he goes to seek it out. What he finds in this little cabin tucked deep in the snow is what he always dreamed of. Someone to see him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Little Cabin in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> This was the beginning of a birthday fic for a friend, but i never completed it. Sorry! some notes at the end about what the not written half was going to end up like.  
> This was posted just to my blog ages ago, if it looks familiar to anyone. I'm just cross posting it here for posterity sake.

Through the myriad of little urges that spurred him through centuries of bland existence, something finally hooked him. Nothing before ever grabbed at his core and tugged in such a violent way.

For a while, Jack had felt it pulling and building and crescendoing in his background. Most of the time he could ignore it for more immediate efforts.

Efforts like getting the kids in this town or that town to see him, to start a game in the white fluff that could last for hours. With something so exciting it would have kids coming out of their warm homes to play all weekend, even if they had no idea who or what brought on such glee.

Fruitless things that always ended in gut wrenching heartache. Somehow he always messed it up. Somehow he had them playing too long into the evening until they were called back home, or attentions shifted to indoor pursuits, or someone got hurt. Every game ended and the kids stopped coming back and the schools reopened and he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried, make snow days last.

They didn’t see him.

They never would.

And his hopeless temper couldn’t be contained and he tried to make more snowdays and he messed it up. Every time he messed it up. The snow was too deep, the flakes too heavy and wet, the storm too long, the timing just that little bit off. Power went out, trees came down, cars slid away. Humans died.

It wasn’t his fault, but they still didn’t see him.

But the niggling sensation in the very middle of him pulled harder. And he was too weak and too needy to resist it. And it lead him to the cabin in the woods.

The roadway long buried in the storm, the car out front cooling and lifeless its tire tracks quickly disappearing, the windows aglow and warm. The feeling brought him closer. The side door was ajar, and he slipped into the slowly building warmth. Whoever or whatever was here that called to him only just arrived and only just got the small building toasty with a wood fire.

It was rare that Jack Frost ever found himself indoors.

He slid inside and pressed himself against the wall as the adult hefted something from the trunk of the SUV through the snow and inside. The man grunted under the effort of his load but managed to get it inside and close the door behind him with a kick.

Jack gasped. The feeling...it was coming from this man…

This man that was hefting something huge wrapped in plastic garbage bags over to the kitchen table, who had a grin on his face a mile wide and didn’t mind the sweat on his brow from the exertion.

This man, who managed to flop the bundle onto the table and stand back  to brush his hands off, laughing.

Jack hovered in the corner and watched as the intoxicating sensation overwhelmed him. The strange adult then began to unwrap the thing he carried in and Jack shivered as he watched.

It was a body.

Another human adult. Long dead. Some man long turned purple and blue with cold, angry red cuts around his mouth, hands, neck, and ankles. He was completely naked.

Jack felt sick.

He couldn’t do anything. Well….he could just leave, but that would mean leaving and never finding out why he was drawn here, never getting rid of this feeling in his chest. He had to stay.

The sight was horrific. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t stop this stranger, he couldn’t hinder his actions. He was indoors and the best he could do would be to rattle the shutters or blow out the fire...Well, he could also kill the man.

He could do that.

While he was thinking of solutions or actions, the stranger went to a cabinet and began pulling out tools and lining the counter with them. A saw, knives, tubes, jugs, trays.

Oh Moon, Jack put a hand over his mouth. He somehow found himself stuck in a cabin in a real life horror movie. But, he had seen movies before. This was worse.

The stranger picked up a scalpel and turned back to the body. Jack’s eyes were transfixed. He watched as the man lowered the blade to the cold dead chest and made an incision. That unnameable feeling peaked and  Jack gasped through his fingers and suddenly the knife stopped.

He ripped his eyes from the metal and pulled them up in what felt like a slow motion move and found that pointed sallow face of the man staring. right. at. him.

Every last semblance of air forced it’s way from his lungs and Jack was making eye contact. With a human. For the first time in his entire existence. A human. An adult. Not a child.

Oh Gods.

He was stunned frozen and all he could do was watch those eyes.

As they moved around the table, locked with his. Those eyes calmly kept his gaze upon them as a hand reached for another knife, as they closed in and became bigger with proximity.

He barely reacted as the knife blade pressed into his throat.

The trance shattered.

A burning hand gripped his arm. Seared into his icy flesh and pressed him into the wall. He could only gape as he stared up into that face, that pointed nose and chin surrounding those eyes.

“You can...see me,” He croaked.

“What are you doing here?” The man asked, speaking for the first time. His voice was rich and deep, accented, caustic.

And he couldn’t help the smile. His lips had a mind of their own and Jack grinned the widest, toothiest smile. It hurt his cheeks, and the body on the table suddenly didn’t matter. Not to this.

“You see me!” He practically crowed as his hands shot up and gripped the man on each shoulder. He needed to hug or touch him in some way because he was not invisible and this was happening, and this adult, of all people, could see him! Touch him!

But the knife dug into his neck, and Jack choked on it and his arm was slammed back against the wall. He felt his cold blood seep from his neck, chilling the metal digging in.

“How did you find this place?!” The stranger yelled in his face, all traces of that intoxicating feeling completely gone. Was it from distress? Was it Jack’s fault? He wasn’t sure, but he felt a need to somehow get it back.

“I uh…” Jack was suddenly lost for words, an explanation of any sort. “I had a feeling and sort of followed it?” He tried.

The man stepped back with a mirthless laugh. Jack couldn’t help the uneasy shiver it caused.

“A feeling.” he repeated as he pulled the knife from Jack’s neck and ran a finger through his blood on the metal.

Jack nodded dumbly because there really was no better explanation to be had.

A scorching pain exploded across his chest. His breathe forced violently from his lungs. Jack retched for air.

And looked down.

The knife, that the stranger had been admiring just a split second ago, was punched into his ribs, the fist still gripping the handle almost against his hoodie.

If he had any breath he’d scream. The pain clawed through him and Jack slumped forwards. It happened so fast and the shock crept up quietly. His vision tunneled and blackness took over.

\---

He couldn’t have been out for long.

He woke up with his chest still throbbing, painfully so. He groaned and brought a hand to his eyes. The clatter of metal on wood shot him straight into full consciousness.

He bolted upright with a gasp.

“What the fuck!”

That certainly wasn’t his voice. Jack once again found himself the center of attention as the man that stabbed him was pressed back into the corner of the room knife in hand held defensively in front of himself.

“Why aren’t you dead?!” The man demanded.

“You stabbed me!”

“You should be dead!”

“Immortal.” Jack snapped back, perturbed that his chest still hurt from being stabbed.

“What.” He croaked from the corner.

“Immortal. You can see me so that must mean you believe. Shouldn’t you know this?” Jack rubbed at his slowly healing chest. “Hey, where’s that dead guy?” Things were starting to feel surreal here.

“I-What?”

“Belief! It’s why you can see me! Obviously you believe in me or...or, well, you wouldn’t have stabbed me i guess.” Jack looked at him hopefully. The man lowered the knife just a bit, a deep scowl on his lips.

“What are you?” He was still frustratingly cautious.

Jack made to stand up, but the knife was raised and he paused. This guy was like a wild animal.

“Who. Who am I.” He corrected. “Jack Frost, surely…?” Jack frowned.

“Don’t fuck with me!”

“Really?” Jack got up

“Stay back!”

“Come on. You’re the first person to see me in my entire life!” Jack takes a cautious step forwards, the man snarls.

“At least tell me your name?” he tries

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Who the fuck knows what you can do with a name.”

“That's some superstition right there.”

“What are you.” He demands again.

“I already said. Jack Frost. Winter incarnate at your service.” Jack takes a small bow. The man is not impressed.

“It’s Pitch.”

“Pitch?”

“Pitch Black.”

Jack grins. This was his first believer. An adult, an apparent murderer. “So, Pitch Black. Nice. Serial Killer Extraordinaire, I assume?”

“What?” Pitch was back to croaking.

“I saw what you were about to do to that body. And now its not here. Actually, I was laid out on the table? What did you do with the guy? What were you going to do to me?” Jack advanced, more confident.

“Don’t come any closer!”

“Or what. You’ll kill me? Didn’t work the first time.”

“Just...Just leave me alone!”

“No way.” Jack said leaning back against the table. “You see me.”

Finally, Pitch’s wide-eyed fear seemed to melt into something more manageable. A deep scowl. “Unfortunately.” He grumbled.

Jack laughed. “You’re stuck with me!”

And he laughed even harder when the man strung together a royal flush of expletives.

\---

“So where did that feeling go?”

“What feeling?”

“Uhm…” Jack paused. He was sitting on the counter of the cabin watching as Pitch scrubbed down all the surfaces, meticulously going over everything to get rid of his evidence. “I had a feeling that brought me here. Remember?”

“How could I forget…” Pitch muttered blandly. He had quickly adopted this casual attitude after getting over his own fear. He had some sort of idea that if he just ignored Jack hard enough, this problem would go away on it’s own. It infuriated Jack like he couldn’t believe, so he became determined to not  let such a thing happen. He didn’t really know if it could happen but...

No chances. This was the rarest of opportunities.

“It was strongest when you had your knife in him. What were you feeling then? In that moment? What was it like? I never felt something like that before. It pulled at the very middle of me. It made me...happy.” Jack finished lamely. He was watching Pitch like a hawk and smiled when the man tensed and straightened, his lips thinning in a stunned sort of thought.

Jack doubted he would ever get tired of observing this man. His first believer. He always thought that children were his focus. He wanted them to be for the longest time. He wanted them to like him, see him, be his friend. This right here was completely backwards to his entire forced system of belief. The reality that he built himself shattered when that knife plunged into his ribs.

And he couldn’t really bring himself to mind.

Pitch’s belief in him came secondary, but once Jack said his name he felt it flicker to life inside of him. This trumped everything. Almost everything. That feeling he had that pulled him here. He wanted that back.

“Well?” He asked.

**Author's Note:**

> sooo, this was going to end up going along the lines of Jack being addicted to Pitch's belief in him to the point where he'd do just about anything for the man. Pitch is at first freaked the fuck out when jack brings him frozen to near death humans for him to cut up to his hearts pleasure so that Jack might feel his happiness again. Pitch becomes comfortable in this routine soon enough and encourages Jack, and starts giving Jack targets. They live happily ever after as twisted murder husbandos.
> 
> I could see jack slowly turning into a wendigo from pitch's encouragement and the perversion of belief and his powers meant for innocent fun and not this greed and hunger for more of that fleeting feeling pitch gives him.


End file.
